


Werewolf Healing

by Rehfan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Peter Hale, Dark Magic, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Oral Sex, Werewolf Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris convinced Peter to save Beacon Hills from a Norse demon. Now he has to deal with Peter Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werewolf Healing

The door slammed closed behind Chris and he turned to the werewolf who hung from a meat hook and held by sturdy chains, his body connected to a constant current of electricity to prevent his shift. He looked beaten down, but his eyes still glowed with blue fire.

“It’s about time,” said Peter.

“Shut up,” said Chris. “I’m not here to rescue you. You can hang here forever for all I care.” He looked behind him at the door to the meat locker. The sliding door was metal and guarded on the outside by two hunters who would shoot first and ask questions later.

Peter rolled his eyes. “No, of course you aren’t,” he said. “I’m not stupid. You don’t like me. I don’t like you. But you do need me, don’t you?”

“The dark magic spell can’t be broken without the blood of an Omega werewolf, so yeah. I do need you.”

“And how exactly are we to leave this place without your hunter buddies wondering where you’re taking me?” asked Peter. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That I’m taking you for a walk,” said Chris. “Now shut up and let me work.”

“Hey,” said Peter, shrugging as best he could considering his trussed up position, “whatever gets me out of here.”

Chris set down his bag and pulled out three syringes. “Who said anything about getting you out of here?”

Peter groaned. “Of course not.”

~080~

There was noise on the other side of the door. Two thumps. And then a third. The chain and lock around the door jangled and Peter tried to scent who was there before the door opened but all he got was the smell of an old freezer: stale freon and metal. The door slid open. The pitch blackness was only a hindrance for humans. Peter could see him clearly. “Back again?” he said.

“Shut up,” said Chris. He picked his way carefully to Peter and turned off the electricity.

“So you need me in the flesh,” said Peter.

Chris’ flashlight shone on his gloating smirk before moving to his hands. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” asked Peter. “After all, I’m getting out.”

“I can’t believe I’m forced to do this,” muttered Chris.

“Wouldn’t work without fresh blood, eh?”

“What do you think?”

“And what makes you believe that I will let you live when you release me?” asked Peter.

Chris clamped a smooth, silver collar low around Peter’s neck and locked it. “This is a shock collar. Well… it’s a bit more advanced than that. It can only be removed safely if you know the code sequence - which I do.”

“And you think I can’t just break it?”

“I know you won’t want to,” said Chris, activating the collar. A needle shot into Peter’s skin.

“What the hell was that?”

“That was the means by which the collar remains undamaged and in place,” said Chris. “It will pump a metric ton of wolfsbane into your bloodstream if you attempt to remove it without the code.”

Peter sighed, resigned to his fate. “So what are we fighting anyway?” he asked as Chris undid the chains that surrounded him. “You said dark magic. What kind of dark magic?”

“Old Norse,” said Chris as he released the last of the locks. “Now let’s go.”

“Let me get my shirt,” said Peter.

“Of course,” Chris folded his arms and stared hard at him, “would you like us to run to the cleaners and have it freshly pressed for you too? Let’s go!” Chris turned, moving to the door.

Peter left the freezer behind still getting his arms in the sleeves of his t-shirt. “Always in such a rush. You know you’re going to die of a heart attack before I get a chance to kill you if you keep this up.”

Chris didn’t answer; he was already halfway down the hall and leaping over the unconscious bodies of the other hunters he had to gas to get Peter Hale out. This had better be worth it, he thought as he contemplated the twenty hour car ride back to Beacon Hills.

~080~

“Where did you get this piece of junk? Rent-a-Wreck?” asked Peter as he held the flashlight again. It was the third time they had broken down, but it was nothing to do with the quality of the vehicle. It was more likely the peppering the SUV took as they drove off away from the hunters. Turns out it takes more than just a simple blow to the head to fully knock out a Canadian hunter.

“Either help or shut up, Peter.” Chris had tried to patch up the gas tank on her, but he had little to work with and the shotgun had turned the tank into a sieve. Fortunately, the Pacific northwest was spattered with small towns along the back roads and when this third time had come around, luck had been with them; they had broken down right in front of Fred’s Full Service Auto Repair.

After a small negotiation with Fred and a phone call to Beacon Hills, they had only to spend the night in the small Washington State town before the sheriff would come to pick them up. “Must be pretty important if you need to call in the law,” said Peter.

“Peter,” sighed Chris, “this has already been a very long trip with your mouth playing louder than the radio. Could you please for five seconds just shut the hell up and leave me in peace?”

Peter watched him carefully. “But annoying you is the only entertainment I’ve had on this journey.”

Chris ignored him yet again. “Fred was kind enough to tell me that there’s a motel about two miles walk from here,” he said. “We’ll stay there and then go when John gets here.”

“What about your precious car?”

“Fred’s gonna need it for a few days,” said Chris. “After that, I can come back for it. Nevermind the car. Let’s just get to a warm bed. I hate Washington in the late fall.” He bundled his coat around himself and headed off in the direction Fred had given him with Peter following, resigned to his fate.

~080~

The Green Apple Inn wasn’t much. Chris had slept in worse. Peter had never seen worse. “This place is a hovel,” he whispered to Chris as they entered the main office.

“Shut up and be nice. It’s only one night and then we’re gone,” said Chris.

“One night for a lifetime of fleas. I can’t wait.”

A placard on the desk let the two men know they were facing Ms. Chang. A bespeckled woman of about sixty, she smiled benevolently at them and said: “Fred called. He said you were coming. I told him I only have one room available at the moment. He said that would be fine as you seemed like a nice couple. Room seventeen.” She handed them two keys. “Best I’ve got. Just fill this out and you’re all set. Just staying the one night, right?”

“We’re staying one night, but we’re two separate-” said Peter, his voice barely holding back his anger.

“It’ll be fine,” said Chris, interrupting him and filling out the registration card. “We’re just passing through. It’s one night. And besides,” he added, eying Peter angrily, “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

Ms. Chang giggled. “Aww, newlyweds. I had a feeling.” She turned to Peter and patted his hand where he leaned it against the registration desk. “Don’t worry, dear. First night jitters are expected. It’ll all work out for you, I’m sure.”

Peter pulled his hand away and gave her a tight smile as they left the office and searched for room seventeen. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he said to Chris.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who came in - not once, but twice - to get my blood. You’re the one who knocked out the Canadians instead of killing them, like I would have done. Now they’re probably chasing us. And then, we barely escape only to break down in this god forsaken town with everyone thinking we’re the new gay hipster couple from Walla Walla or wherever.”

“So you’re blaming your one night stay in a less than two-star motel in the middle of nowhere on my inability to kill my fellow hunters?”

“In a word: yes.”

Chris regarded him quietly for a moment as they stood in front of room seventeen. “So what you’re saying is: we’re nothing alike and never will be.”

“Again, you are correct.”

Chris blinked. “And this is a bad thing, because…?”

Peter opened his mouth and then shut it again. He sighed and said, “Just open the door and let me get some sleep.”

~080~

“What fresh hell is this?” said Peter as they stepped into the room. Chris flicked on the light and was very grateful to see that there was nothing that scurried for cover when the lamps lit up. But what greeted their eyes wasn’t at all fancy: orange shag carpet gave way to wood paneling on the walls. Along the wall closest to them was a dresser upon which sat a boxy outdated television, remote, and a lamp that was clearly made in 1973. Beyond that was a small table and chairs. Opposite that was the door to the bathroom. The closet abutted one wall of the bathroom, facing the bed. It was a sliding door affair and one of them had a full-length mirror attached that gave a kinky reflection onto the bed. The patchwork curtains hung sadly in the one window and matched the bedspread on the king size bed that dominated the room.

“The seventies called. They want their decor back,” said Chris. He turned to Peter. “It’s the best we can do for now and it’s only one night. We’ll live.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Peter. “I shudder to think what the bed feels like.”

“What do you care? You’re sleeping on the floor,” said Chris.

“Like hell I am!” said Peter.

Chris sighed. “I am not sharing a bed with a wolf. Least of all you.”

“Then you take the floor. Rough it, like a good hunter,” Peter shrugged. “I’ll let you have one of the pillows.”

“Not happening,” said Chris. “I paid for the room. My rules.”

“I’m not your kid,” said Peter.

Chris had him against the wall in an instant, his forearm pressed to his throat, his gun to his temple. “If you ever- EVER-”

“Okay, okay…” said Peter, gasping, his hands up in surrender. “Touchy subject. I get it.”

Chris never wavered; his eyes held fire. He didn’t speak. The loss of Allison was far too fresh in his mind and heart. He had never been without a female to guide him before and it felt strange. Scott’s pack needed him and that helped, but it wasn’t the same as having his own family about him.

“You need me alive, remember?” said Peter, bringing him back out of his thoughts.

“Alive? Yes. In one piece? Not necessarily,” said Chris. “Anything I break will heal.”

“Now now, hunter,” said Peter. “You don’t want to go through all that, do you?”

“Maybe,” said Chris. Peter raised an eyebrow. Chris smiled sadistically. “Maybe I want to let out some frustration.”

“And maybe that would be a complete waste of energy,” said Peter, his countenance darkening. “And maybe I’d rip your throat out before you could reach back for the first punch.”

“Shock collar,” reminded Chris, his eyes darting to the silver band around his throat. “You can’t shift.”

“Doesn’t negate my strength,” said Peter.

“Want to test that theory, jackass?”

Peter’s eyes widened by a fraction as he considered what Chris was telling him. Finally, he shrugged and his hands clasped over Chris’ throat. Instantly, his body was wracked with pain from a jolt around his neck. He fell to his knees.

“Told you,” said Chris, he holstered his weapon and backed away from Peter.

Peter’s breath came in gasps and he curled into the fetal position as the pain subsided. A pillow from the bed hit his head.

“Sweet dreams, Hale,” said Chris.

~080~

“What?” Chris yelled into his phone. “I can’t hear you, Sheriff. You’ll have to speak up.”

Peter looked at him through the diner window, concerned. His werewolf hearing allowed him to be privy to Chris’ side of the conversation, despite the din in the diner and the fact that the window separated him from Chris’ pacing figure.

“You can’t? What happened?” There was a pause while Chris listened intently to the Sheriff. “And you can’t break it?”

Peter sipped at his coffee. If there could be anything positive to say about this town, it was the coffee. He would be working the kinks out from sleeping on the floor for the next six years. He wanted nothing more than to spend the night in his own bed. But considering the talk Chris was having, he was bracing himself for the worst.

“Damn it. Alright, John. Thanks. We’ll do what we can from here.” Chris turned toward Peter and gave him a shake of his head. “I have most of the ingredients. We’ll just have to- John? John! Are you there?” He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. Making a face, he pocketed it and went back inside sitting across from Peter and heaving a sigh.

“Let me guess: we’re not leaving today,” said Peter.

“The curse has taken hold of the town. Communications are down completely now. Sheriff had to call me from the edge of the Preserve at the county line but the call cut off.”

“Dear God,” said Peter. “What the hell are you dealing with?”

Chris sighed. “About three weeks ago, a new kid came into town. His mother was a witch. The white-light kind. She passed away and the kid was understandably upset. He dipped into the darker magics and found something about summoning a demon to raise the dead. Of course, it backfired spectacularly. So now the kid is dead, the mother is still dead, and the demon is looking for payment. This demon found out that there are werewolves in the town and decided that they need to become playthings. So Scott and Derek, Liam, Malia, and Isaac are all working for the demon. John, Stiles, Lydia, Kira, and Parrish have three of them holed up inside mountain ash circles in a warehouse. The other two - Scott and Derek - they’re proving elusive. And I went to go get you. So… we’re the only help Beacon Hills has.” He stirred his coffee but didn’t drink it. “The blood of an Omega werewolf will break the bond that the demon has over all the wolves and help weaken the demon enough for us to trap it. That’s where you come in.”

“Eat,” said Peter, who shoveled in another forkful of omelet. “Something tells me we’ll both need our strength to defeat a Norse demon.”

Chris grunted but ate anyway. This situation was worse than he thought it could be. He only hoped that the spell would work and their lives could get back to normal - or as normal as Beacon Hills could get.

~080~

The ritual would have to be performed as quickly as possible. Peter was regretting that second cup of coffee as he made his way into the woods with Chris. They had to walk at least six miles beyond the town limits to get to a private spot to perform the ritual. Peter tried desperately not to make a face when Ms. Chang called it “a romantic hike” and wished them well.

“I’m surprised she didn’t pack us a picnic basket to take with us,” Peter snarked as they left the town behind a hill and moved off deeper into the woods.

“Get over it,” muttered Chris, readjusting the pack on his shoulder as he pressed on. “They think we’re gay, then let them.”

“But I’m not gay for you,” said Peter.

Chris turned to him, stopping him in his tracks. “So who are you gay for?”

Peter grimaced and asked, “How much farther do we have to go?”

“No really,” said Chris, “because I can’t imagine you loving anyone more than you love yourself.”

“Hey,” said Peter. “At least when I have sex with me, I’m always satisfied.”

Chris narrowed his eyes and turned from him, stalking through the woods and not saying a word. Peter smiled at the back of his head and followed him.

The clearing they spotted on the map wasn’t much, but it was enough for their purposes. Chris and Peter cleared the leaves away, exposing the dirt beneath. Chris pulled the four guide stones out of his heavy-duty backpack. They were as big as five pound bags of flour and three times as heavy. Peter didn’t say so, but he was impressed that Chris could carry that weight such a long distance and not complain. In the side of his pack, Chris also pulled out a jar of mountain ash. He placed each of the stones (quartz, obsidian, amethyst, and jasper) on each of the four points of the compass. He then laid a circle of the ash inside the square of stones with a small break at the quartz crystal for Peter to get in. He turned to the werewolf and gestured at the spot.

“In,” he said curtly.

“Saying “please” wouldn’t kill you, you know,” Peter said as he walked into the circle.

“Please shut up?” asked Chris sarcastically.

Peter crossed his arms belligerently and asked: “What now?”

“I’ve got to take the collar off of you. You need to be able to shift for this.”

“Oh well there’s something at least,” said Peter. He turned around so that Chris could access the collar’s keypad.

Chris completed the mountain ash circle before asking Peter to back up to the edge of the barrier. Peter grunted as the ethereal light of the circle rebuffed his motion.

“You do realize that that hurts, yeah?” he asked Chris.

“Yeah,” said Chris, his tone decidedly without concern. A few presses on the keypad and the collar hissed loose and Chris deftly removed it from his throat.

“Ugh,” said Peter. “That thing is awful.”

“I have a feeling that our room at the Green Apple and this collar are going to be welcome sights if this ritual works,” said Chris. He pulled an old book out from his sack and sat at the amethyst rock at the northern point to read the incantation.

“What is going to happen, exactly?” asked Peter. His brow was showing signs of perspiration, betraying his downplayed demeanor.

“Honestly?” asked Chris.

Peter scowled at him. “No. Lie to me.”

“I have no idea what’s going to happen, Peter,” said Chris.

“Will I live through it?” asked Peter. “Does the book say? Does the book say anything?”

“No.”

“I must be out of my mind,” said Peter. “How could I let you truss me up like a turkey on Thanksgiving to be sacrificed to a Norse demon some morbid little twit released from Norse hell three hundred miles from Beacon Hills just because he missed his mommy?”

Chris sighed. “If it’s any consolation, Peter: if you do die, you’re the hero here.”

“A life of glory should be lived, not granted upon death.”

“Either way, you’re saving an entire town. Maybe even all of California.”

Peter stared at him for a long time with barely hidden disgust and incredulity. “Just read the fucking poem, you shit.”

Chris blinked. “For your last words, those are memorable.” Before Peter could respond, he began the spell to break the bind on the werewolves of Beacon Hills.

~080~

The reading of the incantation was a cinch. The rest was not. Peter didn’t remember much after the demon appeared in the circle and began to eviscerate him. He knew he shifted and it felt good to be so strong again - until the demon took its first bite of him.Then his werewolf vision became edged in black and he knew he would soon flag. He could hear Chris repeating the same words over and over and over: “Taka dreyri eða leita.” Somewhere in his mind he could hear it in English too: “Take blood and go.” The voice echoed and reverberated around the circle, the border of the mountain ash keeping him in one place as the demon fed.

He recalled trying to fight it, but once it had gotten hold, it seemed as if it would never let him go. He didn’t want to die. Not for Beacon Hills, not even for his own nephew. And so he wrestled with it with what strength he did possess until the world spun, the demon cried aloud, and the forest went black.

~080~

His stomach was on fire. His body was a misery of pain and rendered useless. He watched the forest recede in front of him, shaky, uneven. He fell back into a fevered dream about a demon, a circle of stones, and a blue eyed man that condemned him for his sins.

~080~

“Peter?”

“Dad?”

“Peter?”

“Derek?”

“Peter!”

Peter blinked his eyes open. The first thing he saw was Chris’ concerned face. It was dark. Something dripped onto his forehead and cheeks. He raised a hand to touch. “Ow!”

“That arm’s broken. Don’t move it,” said Chris. His voice was grave. “You’ll heal, but it may take a while.”

“My face is wet,” said Peter. His voice was barely a whisper.

“It’s raining.”

“Oh,” said Peter. Satisfied with this answer, he attempted to go back to sleep.

“Peter!” said Chris.

“What?”

“You have to put your arm around my shoulder,” he said. “Help me help you. I can’t do this alone without raising suspicion.”

He felt his body shift and heave upright. The pain was more than he could stand. Someone screamed. The world collapsed.

~080~

“Chris,” Peter moaned. His face appeared above him. Something wet was on his forehead again, but he recognized it as a compress.

“Sleep, Peter,” said Chris. He sounded so far away.

“Can’t,” said Peter. He was too warm, too cold, too uncomfortable.

“Shh…” soothed Chris. “Quiet now. Sleep.”

“Need a drink,” said Peter. His mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Cool water was poured into his mouth. He swallowed it carefully at first, but then leaned up into the cup and took mouthfuls, eventually choking a bit.

“Easy,” said Chris as Peter sputtered.

The cloth was at his lips, wiping the water away.

Peter’s body was wracked with pain with every cough. His ribs felt detached and his belly burned. Peter began to cry, but soon stopped himself. The pain wouldn’t get the best of him. He wouldn’t give Chris the satisfaction of seeing him bend.

“Sleep, damn you. It’s the best thing you can do,” said Chris and for once, Peter agreed with him.

~080~

He could move his arm again. He knew it was healed the moment he reached up to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

“Feeling better today?” asked Chris. He was seated at the small dining table across the room. There was a disassembled weapon on its surface and he was cleaning it.

“Were you planning to shoot me if I was going to take a turn for the worse?” Peter joked despite the deep pain in his chest and belly. He placed a tentative hand to his stomach. It was covered in gauze, bandages, and tape. He attempted to peel it away and Chris stopped him.

“Don’t!” he warned. “You’ll want to keep that on for a bit longer. The wound is still weeping.”

“Weeping?”

“Trust me,” said Chris.

Peter raised a questioning eyebrow and pulled at one corner. The smell of putrefaction hit him like a fist. “What the fuck?”

“I did tell you to trust me,” said Chris. He walked over to Peter and stood over him, checking the adhesive and applying just a bit more over the corner. “And with your sense of smell, I was trying to avoid that.”

“Oh God,” said Peter. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

“Please don’t,” said Chris. “Breathe.”

Peter took careful gulps of air until his nausea subsided. “This is horrible.”

“Not half as bad as when you find out that it’s been two days since the ritual,” said Chris.

“Two-”

“Days,” finished Chris.

“Please tell me it worked. I mean, I stink like death. Tell me that I stink like death because it worked. Because if I went through all of that and nothing happened-”

“It worked,” said Chris with a smile. “Relax.”

“I smell like death and you tell me to relax,” said Peter. “I really don’t like you.”

~080~

Peter slept off and on for the next few hours, his stomach rumbling with hunger, but too nauseous to eat. The fever came and went as well; he was shaking with it when he felt another blanket brought up over his shoulders and tucked beneath his chin. He knew Chris was watching over him like some guardian angel, yet he couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his own helplessness. He was a werewolf, damn it. More than that: he was a Hale. He shouldn’t feel this way, demon or no demon.

His bladder was complaining. He needed to get up. It took him a moment to decide just how to do such a thing and when he found a way to get himself upright with little-to-no pain, he was weirdly proud of himself.

“What are you doing?” asked Chris, rushing to his side.

“Getting up,” said Peter.

“What for?”

“To pee. Unless you’ve outlawed that along with moving and being awake.”

Chris grimaced. “I could get you something to go into-”

“Don’t you dare extend this camping trip experience to urination,” said Peter. “Next thing you know, you’ll have me taking a shit in the woods.” He moved to stand and Chris was there to support him. Peter’s breathing was strained, but he was relatively steady as he held Chris’ forearms. “Please God don’t let me need you to hold my dick.”

“That is something I will not volunteer for,” said Chris flatly.

He was led to the bathroom doorway where Chris asked: “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know what I’ll be able to keep down, but I’ve got to have something,” said Peter. “Getting a headache.”

“Alright,” said Chris. “As long as you’re sure you’ll be alright, I’ll hit the diner for some soup or something.”

“Good enough,” said Peter. He gave Chris a bashful glance before he closed the bathroom door. “Thanks, Chris.”

Chris nodded, recognizing the hurt pride in Peter’s voice he didn’t make much of the gratitude. Peter cursed him for that. The last thing he wanted was to be grateful twice to a hunter - especially Chris Argent.

~080~

Chris came back to the sound of water running. As he closed the hotel door, there was a loud thump and a curse. He dropped the food on the table and rushed to the closed bathroom door. “Peter!” he shouted as he pounded on the door. “Are you alright?”

A low moan greeted him and he opened the door without permission. Peter was completely wet, naked, and half in and half out of the tub with the shower running over him as water dripped on the floor. Chris shut off the taps and helped Peter sit back in the tub, sitting on its edge. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I want the smell off of me,” moaned Peter, his ribs barely allowing him to speak.

“I told you, I’ll change the bandage.” Chris took a look at the dressing, the cloth wet and stuck to Peter’s skin. “You need to leave this to me. The smell will go away as you heal, but you need to give yourself time.”

“Not just that,” said Peter, “it’s the smell of everything on me. I can still smell the dirt, the decaying leaves, the stink of the demon. I want it off!”

Chris sighed. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Only… let’s be logical about this.” He turned the tap back on and opened the water direction to fill the tub through the spigot instead of the shower head. He plugged the tub and peeled the bandage off of Peter as carefully as he could. The wound stunk, its edges red and raw, but the skin was connected back together for the most part. “The soap and water may sting,” he warned.

“Anything’s better than how it feels now,” said Peter.

Chris threw away the old bandage and took some soap from the vanity as well as a washcloth. “I’ll try and clean it directly. You lie still.”

He worked the soapy cloth around the wound gingerly and Peter watched him. The injury was jagged as though he had been hugging a running chop saw blade. As Chris worked, he could see yellow pus escape from beneath the skin. The smell was revolting, but the release of the pressure from it a blessing. As he watched Chris’ face, a thought struck him: “You’ve seen worse wounds?”

“I have,” said Chris, thinking of Victoria. “Wounds that people couldn’t recover from.”

The water from the tub had come halfway up Peter’s chest and Chris shut the taps off and rose to his feet. “Here,” Chris said, handing Peter the washcloth, “finish up. Your soup is getting cold.”

I can’t lift my arms above my head, Chris,” said Peter.

“So?”

They both knew what Peter was asking him, but Peter’s pride won out: “Nevermind.”

“Ask.”

“No. Forget it.”

“Ask, Peter.”

Peter sat in the water staring at its surface like it had offended his mother.

Chris let a few moments tick by before reaching for the hotel shampoo and laying down a towel to kneel on. He soaped up his hands and massaged it through Peter’s wet hair. His touch was perfunctory at best, his mouth a thin line as he worked. He knelt up as he allowed Peter to lean back into the water, cupping water over his head and rinsing out all the soap.

Peter’s breathing was funny, halted, as though he were bracing himself.

“Painful?” Chris asked.

“Yeah.” The answer was staccato. Peter was too busy holding his breath, trying desperately to save himself more pain in his ribcage and abdomen. But the position was killing him.

“Relax into the water,” said Chris. “I’ll keep your mouth and nose above the surface. Just lay back and relax.”

Peter bent his knees and closed his eyes. For the second time in his life, he was fully trusting Chris Argent. His pride rankled. Why did he have to be so damned helpless? When would he heal? Usually the most severe broken bones healed within a day. At that point, it was more than a day later and his gut still felt like it had rusty surgical instruments buried inside it.

Chris took Peter’s head and neck in his outspread hand and finished scrubbing his hair. Peter had closed his eyes again and Chris couldn’t help but notice how completely peaceful he looked. All the tension fell away from his body as the water level circled his face. Chris morbidly wondered how Peter could allow a known werewolf hunter to care for him so closely to water when his strength was compromised enough for Chris to hold him under until the bubbles went away. Chris blushed with the realization that Peter was granting him a rare gift.

As Chris continued to cradle his neck, once more Peter was impressed with his strength. He continued to scrub his scalp and were this any other kind of a situation, Peter would thoroughly be enjoying himself. As it was, he was just happy to not have that desperate clawing at his insides brought about by the muscles of his abdomen and rib cage straining themselves. Still… if things were different between him and Chris…

Suddenly, Chris’ hands were done and he let Peter gently float in the water.

“There,” Chris said, clearing his throat. “Now sit up and wash the rest of you.”

Peter slid upward, bracing himself against the sides of the tub and sat up, taking a second to breathe. He watched Chris’ retreating figure and wondered about his sudden departure. “Just when it was getting good,” he murmured after the bathroom door closed.

~080~

The bath water had been plenty hot, but it soon cooled and Peter felt the fever return. He drained the tub and hated the unpredictability of his symptoms. Reaching out and over, he pulled a towel from the rack and grunted with pain. It took most of his strength to lift himself to the edge of the tub so he could wrap the towel around his waist. Of course it was too small to be believed.

He waited for the shivering to subside and to get his strength back enough to stand, but he was soaking wet and colder than ever. He didn’t want to have to call Chris again. He really didn’t. He willed himself upright and put a hand to the tile wall as he pitched forward, gripping the towel with his other hand. He congratulated himself on his half-success and slowly turned around. Bracing himself with his one free hand, he raised his leg, grimacing once more with the pain of his movement. His one foot made it to the bathroom floor and in his confidence, he brought his other to join it, catching it on the tub and falling forward to the floor with a thud. His ribs screamed out in agony and the door swung open into the room, clocking him in the head.

“Jesus, Peter! I’m so sorry!” said Chris, stooping over him to help get him up.

Peter’s head cleared enough to spot Chris barely suppressing a smile. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Argent?”

Chris couldn’t help it anymore. He let out a joyous laugh as Peter got his feet under him. “Actually, that was pretty funny.”

Peter scowled at him as another wave of chills hit him and he practically doubled over. “You prick. Just shut up and get me back to bed. I’m f-freezing.”

~080~

Chris put fresh bandages on Peter’s wound as he laid in the bed shivering uncontrollably. As soon as he was done, he piled the blankets on top of him and rubbed a fresh towel over his wet hair. “That should help,” said Chris.

“Still really cold,” said Peter. “Please, Chris.”

Chris checked the closet. There was only an extra pillow on the high shelf and Chris looked around the room at his options, hands on hips. He finally watched Peter curl himself into the fetal position, moaning miserably. He hung his head with the realization of what he was going to have to do. He cast his eye over the table in the corner and found a way to bide his time.

He took the cover off the soup he had bought Peter and brought it to him, rolling him on his back and putting the container to his lips. “Drink this,” said Chris. “It’ll help warm you up.”

The liquid was like manna from heaven. Warm and rich, the chicken broth was just what Peter’s system was craving and he drank it with zeal. Chris gave him all that he was willing to drink and Peter’s system seemed to calm just a bit, but it didn’t alleviate all of his fever. He was still curled into the fetal position and shook every now and again with the chills. He wasn’t complaining, however, and Chris wondered about that.

“Your normal body temp is warmer than a human’s,” remarked Chris.

“So?”

“So you’re not only cold for a werewolf, you’re cold for a human.”

“So?”

“So I’m thinking that’s affecting your healing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Chris. His brow knitted.

“What are you thinking, Argent?” said Peter, watching him with one eye open.

Chris removed his shoes and emptied his pockets.

“Chris?”

“If you tell anyone about what is about to happen, I not only will deny it to the hilt, I will surround you in another circle of mountain ash and summon that demon back to take the rest of you to hell.” He circled the bed and got in under the sheets, snuggling in close behind Peter and warming him with his body heat.

Instantly, Peter felt better. His body relaxed and he couldn’t help but snuggle back against Chris, the hard line of him creating a perfect nest for his weary body.

~080~

Chris had to admit, he was exhausted too. It was no small feat dragging a fully-grown man through the woods for six miles. He didn’t think the damage to Peter would be that severe and if there were any damage to him at all it would all be psychic damage, nothing physical. The wound was gaping when Chris had broken the circle and knelt at his side. It was a hole inside of him; Chris could clearly see a small portion of his intestines and what he assumed was part of his stomach and liver. The demon had ripped him open and eaten the muscle away from his abdomen in places, leaving the muscle riddled with holes like Swiss cheese.

Gingerly Chris had folded the tattered skin back over the wound and brought some first aid material out from his backpack. He patched up the wound as best he could, blood slick on his hands, flesh flaccid and slippery, the copper tang of blood in the air. Peter moaned but showed no other sign of consciousness; that was good. The longer he stayed unconscious, the quicker the work would be. He finished patching him up as best he could, the bleeding stopping almost immediately thanks to his werewolf nature, his arm in a makeshift sling using what was left of his shirt. He made a stretcher from his coat’s double layers and two long branches. It was on this makeshift contraption he was able to drag Peter back to the motel - or at least to just behind the building.

He could hear Gerard in his head the whole way back. “Leave him. Leave him to die. Better yet, cut his head off. He’s a wolf! Why are you doing this, Christopher? This isn’t the way I raised you. Wolves have to die. Especially this one. He’s a Hale. You know what that family is like! Kate did the right thing. Help finish what she started and kill him. He’s half dead anyway.”

On and on, his father’s voice rang in his head and even when he finally managed to get a bloody Peter back to their rooms, sitting him in the tub and stripping him, he could hear his sister’s voice: “Just kill him already! What the hell are you waiting for?” Still, he took Peter’s clothes carefully from him, cleaned and bandaged the wound a second time, and put him in his own soft sweatpants and cotton t-shirt so that he could sleep comfortably.

As he carried him to the bed and brought the blankets up under his chin, he heard his wife, Victoria, say: “You’re far too lenient, Chris. This will come up and bite you in the ass - literally. And then you’ll be sorry. He’s a monster. Get rid of him before he kills someone again.”

And now here he was two days later, cradling Peter Hale against him, keeping him warm, protecting him, allowing him to heal. All the voices from his past were echoing and rebounding inside his skull screaming at him to kill this killer in his proverbial cradle and he pressed his forehead to the nape of Peter’s neck as the werewolf slept still and calm for the first time in the past day. The buzz inside his brain was almost too much to take until…

One voice came to the fore. One voice reached out to him from beyond the grave and stilled all the other voices.

“You did good, Dad.”

Chris wept as quietly as he could for the sake of his baby girl and for the sake of his own soul until sleep took him.

~080~

Peter rolled over in the twilight of waking and curled himself around the warm body next to him, resting his head on Chris’ chest. Chris wrapped his arms around Peter and sleepily kissed his forehead. It was pure reflex and it felt natural, but both sets of eyes flicked open. Both men waited for the other to make a move, say something, do something that would break the awkwardness and terminal cuteness of a forehead kiss. Neither man’s pride afforded him the ability to either deny or acknowledge what had just happened. Finally, Chris relaxed enough to drift off again and while he was just getting the thought of his lips against Peter’s skin out of his mind, he heard Peter say: “Did you always half-ass it with the wife?”

“What?” said Chris lifting his head off the pillow to look down at Peter.

“I said,” said Peter a little louder, “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Oh. Sure.” Chris let his head back down with relief.

“Do you think the worst is over?”

“Hopefully. Tough to know.”

Another few moments of silence went by with Peter still resting against Chris’ chest, both of their eyes closed.

“You’re really comfortable,” said Peter.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, this bed is perfectly awful.”

“Well it’s not the Waldorf, is it?”

“Decidedly not,” said Peter. “The next time you need to use me as bait for a demon, please take me to the Four Seasons or the Standard or someplace nice.”

Chris couldn’t help but smirk. “Promise.” Then he added: “You make it sound as though I brought you here intentionally.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know!”

Another moment passed.

“Were you aware that there seems to be a small, discrete, welcome basket of condoms and lube and lollipops shaped like penises on the bedside table in the corner?” asked Peter.

“I was,” said Chris. “Ms. Chang is apparently trying to make us gay men feel at home.”

“Oh. Yes. Well… I know that when I’m feeling especially gay, I always suck on a phallus-shaped lollipop.”

Chris smiled at that. “I especially love the ones mom used to make when we were kids. Didn’t your mom do that?”

He felt Peter chuckle against him. “Not my mother. Dad understood though and would get us the dirty mags from the corner store. You know the ones: Playguy, Blueboy, Cosmo.”

“Hey,” said Chris, mock-objecting. “Cosmo has some great makeup tips. Used to pass them along to Victoria.”

Peter lifted his head and let out a happy laugh. “Di- did she loan you her makeup for special occasions?”

Chris made a face. “Don’t be stupid. I’m an entirely different color palette than she was.”

They both laughed uncontrollably at themselves.

“This is stupid,” said Peter. “You swallowed your pride and shared your body heat with me just to help me heal and save my life. What the hell is happening here?”

Chris sighed. “My father would say that I was being sentimental.”

“What do you have to be sentimental about when it comes to me? I’m your mortal enemy, remember?”

“You are a sadistic and twisted bastard,” agreed Chris. “But somewhere in the back of my mind I think that’s mostly my sister’s doing. She may not have created the monster you’ve come to be, but she certainly woke it up.”

Peter slowly considered Chris’ words. “I’m going to have to say that’s correct.” He looked down at his abdomen and beneath the sheets, Chris could see him pull up his shirt to expose the dressing. Slowly he peeled back one corner. The wound was angry but whole; Peter had healed on the exterior at least. He stripped away the bandage completely and discarded it in a ball across the room, missing the shot at the wastepaper basket near the table by a mile.

“How does it feel?” Chris asked.

Peter looked at him. “Like I’ve got chunks missing, but they’re coming back. Weak, but not indefensibly so.” He cocked a grin at him. “I may not kill you after all, Argent.”

“Oh happy day,” said Chris. He rolled away from Peter and brought the blankets over his shoulder. “I’m going to get some more sleep. Wake me when it’s noon.”

“Aren’t you afraid that I’m going to run off?”

“With what car?”

“I could always hitch,” said Peter. “Or walk. Or I could shift and run through the woods. You’d be surprised to know how fast and how far I can run.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s a bunch of Canadian hunters who want to kill us both out there somewhere and I don’t think they’ll have much trouble finding you if you shift and run. Best we stay holed up here in the middle of nowhere and remain human.”

“You’re right,” said Peter, his brain still trying to decide if Chris was completely right or not. “Besides, I don’t think Ms. Chang will have a lot of tolerance for a gay werewolf.”

“Best we not tell her,” said Chris. “Now go to sleep, Peter.”

“But it’s already morning,” whined Peter.

“Now I know you’re feeling better. Your complaining is back to normal.”

~080~

Chris woke to the feel of Peter behind him. At first he thought he was being a fool for falling asleep around a man who could easily murder him and walk, but he was willing to take the risk. In a way, Chris supposed it was sort of a test of trust. He wanted Peter to be good. If not inherently good, then at least willing to let him live when the opportune moment arose - like if Chris were to fall asleep in front of him. When he felt Peter wrap a warm arm around him, he knew he had nothing to fear. Besides, he reasoned to himself, Peter is a self-centered, egotistical opportunist. If there’s no advantage to him, he’s not going to bother.

Chris indulged in the heat Peter was finally able to give off and snuggled backward into him.

“I know you’re awake, Argent,” purred Peter right into his ear. “I can hear your heartbeat and breathing, remember?”

“I remember,” said Chris. “So what if I’m awake?”

“Move a little closer,” said Peter sardonically, “Your ass is still miles away from my cock.”

Chris huffed a laugh. “If anyone’s fucking anyone here, it’ll be me fucking you, bottom boy.”

“So you have thought about it.”

Chris paused. “So have you.”

“I hear angry sex is the best sex,” said Peter. “And considering that we pretty much hate each other’s guts, I should think that would make for some pretty intense stuff. What do you think?”

Chris turned in the bed to face him. “I think I could make you beg for it.”

“Oh really?”

“Twice.”

Peter pulled back his head, his face incredulous. “Fuck you.”

“No,” said Chris with a wry grin, “fuck you. That would be the point.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Peter. “You’re too much of a prude. A sentimental prude.”

The jibe stung, but Chris didn’t let it phase him. “Watch me, wolfman.” He put his hand to Peter’s hip and rolled up on top of him, flipping Peter to his back. “You’re still not at one hundred percent,” said Chris. “You’d give me a run for my money, but I could still have a chance.”

Peter laughed, a short quick bark, before he flipped Chris to the bottom of the bed and pinned his hands by the wrist to the mattress. “Think you know so much, do you?” His eyes flashed blue for a moment and he grinned cruelly.

Chris raised a knee to Peter’s tender stomach and pressed in. Peter grimaced and grunted. “Yeah. I kind of do.” Using all of his strength, he flipped Peter over and their hands scrambled for the other’s until Chris leaned all over Peter, shoulder to thigh, his lower legs wrapping around Peter’s, his arms arranged in a lock hold over his head and neck, one arm behind his neck and holding his opposing elbow, his opposite hand on his forehead, holding him down. “You forget: I’m a trained hunter, well-versed in all forms of hand-to-hand combat.”

“Sexy,” said Peter grinning, his eyes mere slits in the morning light.

The moment held for a second. Two seconds. Three.

Chris dipped in slowly and kissed him full on the mouth. Peter bit back. Chris pressed the kiss harder, bruising. Chris’ hand fell away from Peter’s forehead and carded through his hair to the nape of his neck. Peter flipped them over again and ground his hips into Chris’. Chris let out a moan and slid his hands under Peter’s shirt, clawing at the skin. Chris had no doubt that any mark he managed to leave on Peter’s skin would heal within minutes, if not seconds, but it felt good to try to mark him as a sign of power and - Chris stopped his thought. “Ownership” was the word he was about to think.

He pulled out of their kiss to look at Peter. “What?” asked Peter, his hair wild, his eyes wilder. “You calling it quits so soon?”

“N-no,” said Chris, shaking it off. “It’s nothing.”

Peter regarded him seriously. “Holy shit,” he said. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“Shut up,” said Chris. He averted his eyes.

“No, no, no!” asserted Peter. “You really are getting all sappy with me, aren’t you, Argent? Well, well, well…”

“Shut up, Peter,” said Chris and struggled weakly against the press of Peter’s body.

“Make me,” said Peter. His voice was lower in tone; it was almost a growl. It awakened something primal in Chris.

Chris stared at his lips before demanding: “Let me have your mouth.”

Peter leaned in slowly, teasing. “Like…,” he started, inching closer and closer, “…this?”

Chris came up against him viciously, taking one of his lips between his teeth and biting.

“Oh yeah!” said Peter on the break off, his tongue flicking at the bloody cut Chris had left. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

~080~

It was a matter of seconds for them both to strip each other off, one play-fighting against the other for dominance as to who would be naked before whom. Peter won that battle with the removal of Chris’ last sock, arm wrapped around his kicking leg as Peter’s own feet pushed at Chris’ face. “Ha!” he exclaimed holding the sock aloft and rolling away from Chris. He still wore his boxers and he took in the line of naked Christopher Argent appreciatively. “Jesus, you are in shape.”

“Have to be to chase after assholes like you,” said Chris. “Now let’s get those boxers off, jackass.”

“Come at me,” challenged Peter with an evil grin.

Chris leapt at him in an obvious way and Peter dodged him easily, coming off the bed to stand. “Have to do better than that, hunter,” he said. His guts ached from the struggle, but the playful inner wolf was too amused to care. He rubbed his abdomen absently.

Chris nodded at his hand. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” said Peter. “It’s nothing. Getting stronger by the minute.”

“Yeah right,” said Chris and made another lunge. He clipped Peter about the waist and clawed at his skin as Peter slipped away and stepped closer to the table and bathroom.

“Get back here you,” said Chris, standing on the floor and stalking toward his prey.

Peter felt the wolf in him thrill at the chase. His eyes narrowed. “You know, you’d make a hell of a werewolf.”

Chris gave him a wicked grin. “You wanna bite me, Alpha?”

“I’m no Alpha,” said Peter.

“Right now you are,” said Chris. “Come on, use your imagination. Make this an even better game.”

Peter could see Chris getting hard at the thought and felt his own boxers tent. He’d been an Alpha once before. It was a heady feeling. This game was getting good. He let his fangs drop. “You sure this is what you want, human?”

Chris smiled with both sets of his teeth and lowered his head. He shifted his weight from side to side, stepping slowly closer to Peter. “Come on, Alpha. Show me what you’re made of.”

Peter charged him, leaping and carrying both of them back to the bed. Peter landed on top of Chris with a heavy grunt and sucked at his neck, scraping his teeth over his skin, leaving red trails of fire along him. He licked the mark soothingly as Chris moaned in his ear and ground his erection against Peter’s thigh.

Chris grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair and pulled his head back, planting a kiss against his mouth and biting his lip once again wakening his own mark on him.

Peter took Chris’ ass in his hands, massaging the muscle and increasing the pressure against his own cock as he moved upward and lined himself up against Chris, spreading his legs and straddling him. His following kiss was a passionate embodiment of his building lust as he moved against Chris’ strong body.

The press of Peter’s body was intoxicating. He needed this more than he was willing to admit. It made him suddenly realize just how numb he had been since losing Allison and how empty his bed had been after losing Victoria. He held Peter’s head in his hands and let the kisses linger, their stubble rubbing their faces red and raw. Chris flipped them, grabbing Peter’s hands and pinning them to the mattress above his head. They breathed into each mouths, wordless, feeling their cocks slipping around each other’s as their hips undulated toward one another. “Need to fuck you, Peter. Gotta get you naked.”

Peter smirked. “I am rather irresistible, aren’t I?”

“From where I’m laying, you are disgustingly fuckable, yes,” said Chris. “And you are definitely a bottom, aren’t you?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Chris chuckled. “I’m willing to let you bottom from the top.”

“Pseudo-dominance,” Peter frowned. “I suppose I can live with that. But I will warn you-”

“What?” Chris asked, trailing kisses down Peter’s jawline to his earlobe where his teeth took hold and he nibbled.

Peter’s hips bucked at the feel of teeth on him as he added: “I’m a power bottom.”

Chris hummed against the skin of his neck. “I expected nothing less. Matter of fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

Chris slid down Peter’s body, sliding his boxers away from under him and freeing his erection. Chris tossed the offending article of clothing over his shoulder and licked the tip of Peter’s cock playfully.

Peter gasped. “You bitch,” he said. “Don’t tease me like that.”

Chris grinned. “Roll over, wolf.”

Peter groaned at the pun and presented his ass to Chris. Chris knelt behind Peter, grabbed his ass in his hands, and leaned over his body. “You’re going to enjoy this more than you’d care to admit later.”

“So will you,” said Peter.

“I’m gonna fuck the sass right out of you, Peter.”

“Cum makes the sass grow bigger, fuck boy.”

Chris smacked Peter’s ass at that. The print of his hand was a stark contrast to his skin and Chris couldn’t be happier to see it linger. He reached over to Ms. Chang’s gift basket.

“You won’t need the condom; just the lube,” offered Peter.

“Why?”

“Werewolves don’t get diseases.”

“Oh.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t know that little fact?”

“No,” said Chris, chagrined.

Peter laughed. “Finally got one up on you, hunter. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“Fuck you, Peter,” said Chris as he snatched up the lube bottle.

“As I was told previously: I think that’s the point.”

Chris pulled Peter’s hips up a little more and forced his head downward. “I was going to be nice. But after that, I think I should just put it in without opening you up.”

Peter groaned. “I could take you and kill you right now, you know that right?”

“But then I couldn’t fuck you senseless,” Chris growled in his ear.

Peter moaned at the thought. “Just do it then, hunter. Let me have it. Punish me the way you want to. I can take anything you give to me, hunter. Go on. I dare you. I dare you to grow a pair and just fuck- FUCK!”

Chris had slicked himself up in a matter of seconds and was pressing into Peter as soon as the challenge was offered. “How’s that, wolfman? Huh? Want more?” He pressed further in, his cock coming up against resistance from the unprepared hole and compressing against the rings of muscle. His cock tip slipped down against Peter’s balls. Chris grunted with the discomfort and realigned himself, pressing in again against Peter’s opening.

“Come on, damn you,” said Chris, pressing in a slow rhythm that worked his tip in just a bit against the muscle.

Peter grunted and moved carefully against Chris, not wanting his dick to slip again. He bore down slightly, feeling his ass give and let Chris in just a bit. Then the slicked up head flipped in past the rings and he heard Chris moan with satisfaction. Chris’ hands bracketed his hips and gripped, fingertips digging in deliciously. Peter turned his head to face the closet door against the wall. Upon its surface hung a full-length mirror. The reflection only gave him a view of his own cock and Chris’ hands, but somehow it was enough. He reached down and stroked himself slowly as he felt Chris push further and further in with every other thrust of his hips. Slowly, achingly, his unprepared ass swallowed him to his balls.

Chris let himself sit in there, wholly engulfed in the heat from the werewolf he was taking apart. He watched Peter through slitted eyes. “What else do you dare me to do?”

“Still waiting for you to fuck the sass out of me, Christopher.”

Chris brought his hips back and shoved himself back violently. Peter cried out, lips red, tongue hanging. “Shut up, wolf,” said Chris. He gave him another hard thrust and relished the lost look in Peter’s eyes. “You like it rough,” said Chris. It wasn’t a question.

“Fuck me, hunter,” panted Peter.

Chris collapsed himself on top of Peter, forcing him flat onto the mattress, and drilled himself into his ass over and over until his cock ached with the friction and Peter was moaning his name. Chris propped himself up with one hand and gripped the werewolf around the throat with the other choking him and craning his neck backward until Peter’s ear was at his mouth. He pounded away and made his voice gravelly and fierce. “You are such a sweet fuck, Peter. Your ass is so tight. I could punish you with my dick all day. Feel it slide in and out of your hot hole. Would you like that? Hmm?”

“God yeah,” choked Peter. His hands were fists in the sheets and there was a sheen of sweat over him, not only from the pain in his ass that was becoming more and more pleasurable with every slap against it, but also from the pain in his abdomen that objected to every moment of the rough fuck. But he didn’t care. He wanted all of it. It was all the sweeter with the pain. It was always sweeter with pain.

“You’re never going to misbehave around me, Peter,” growled Chris. “Not ever again. You know I’ll punish you like this. You know I’ll take your ass at its tightest. I’ll do it just so I can see you pant and beg and whimper like the little wolf you are.” He dug his fingertips into his throat and jaw for emphasis.

“Yeah,” said Peter, thrilling at the sound of feral rage in Chris’ voice. “Maybe I’ll take you instead. Maybe I’ll rip your throat out.”

“And maybe you like being my bitch,” said Chris. He fucked him harder, his hips pulling fully away from Peter and driving powerfully back again and again and again into him. “I think you like me fucking you. You like giving in. You like being the brat who’s called on his bullshit. And I’m just the man to do it.”

“Oh god yeah,” agreed Peter.

Chris could feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening. “I’m going to pull out and come all over your asshole. Sit back up. On all fours.”

They repositioned themselves and Chris fucked himself inside Peter’s open hole right up until the first spurt of cum came from him. He milked his cock and watched with a mixture of satisfied ownership and sexual release as he coated the opening with dripping white. As the cum drained, he reinserted himself into Peter, his lust reawakening as the feel of his asshole became just a bit more warm and a lot more sticky-slick. Slowly he fucked him, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of raw-dogging it inside another person. If this was how fucking Peter was going to be all the time, he could get used to it.

Peter’s head lolled to the side as he watched the reflection in the mirror, his cock and Chris’ fingertips in that same tantalizing partial view. Then Chris wrapped a hand around his dick and began to pull him off. He watched the first few strokes with fascination.

“Good?” asked Chris.

“Fuck yeah,” said Peter and closed his eyes, allowing the feel of another person’s hand on his cock to fully register in his brain. His hips began to stutter as Chris’ waning dick was pressing against his prostate ever-so-gently. Peter swallowed hard as his climax built at a dizzying rate.

“Gonna… gonna…”

“Come for me, wolf,” said Chris.

Peter’s eyes clenched closed and he burst onto Chris’ hand and the coverlet of the bed. Chris expertly milked his cock through his orgasm until his firmness began to flag. He squeezed his balls before releasing him and letting him turn over onto his back. Chris laid beside him on his side and caught his breath.

“Your ass is a mess,” said Chris.

Peter smiled. “Don’t care.”

They scrambled under the covers and slept there for the next three hours, sated and with a strange connection growing between them.

~080~

Peter was awakened by a slap against his arm. “Get up, Peter,” said Chris.

They were both still naked, both still in bed. Chris looked a bit bleary eyed when he said: “You are a heavy sleeper. I called your name like seven times. Get up. We have to go pick up the car.”

“Why “we”?” asked Peter.

“Because we’re going to check out too. And that means leaving the room,” said Chris. “I’m taking my shower first.” He removed himself from the bed and walked slowly toward the bathroom scrubbing a hand over his sleepy face.

Peter watched his retreating figure from the bed, the sway of his hips, the line of his spine, the scars from previous battles with wolves of every description. He was all muscle and sinew and blue eyes and the combination did have a certain appeal. Peter heard the shower start and he shifted himself in the bed to catch at least five more minutes of sleep. As soon as he did however, he discovered he was still coated in the sticky-stiff remnants of the previous hours’ escapades. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. He didn’t want to get up, but Chris wasn’t to be denied.

He slowly rose and sat on the edge of the bed, his face to the window whose shade had been pulled ever since they began their stay. Curiosity got the better of him and he peeked outside to see a rather pleasant autumn afternoon with mild traffic along the main road and the diner across the street doing a brisk business with the local lunch crowd. In other words: nothing unusual. Satisfied, he roamed back toward the bathroom and considered interrupting Chris to share his shower. He decided against it, knowing that it would probably just annoy the hunter and then he stopped - why the hell wouldn’t he want to annoy the fuck out of Chris Argent at every fucking turn? He grimaced; he must be losing his touch.

He opened the door and stepped into the shower. Chris was covered in soap. His face was freshly scrubbed and through the froth he shouted: “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He washed his face off quickly to clear his eyes and turned on Peter who stood there, leaned back, arms crossed, and looking Chris up and down appreciatively.

A wry grin played about the werewolf’s face as he replied: “Oh I’m sorry. Were you not done yet?”

Chris sighed, hands on hips, water beating on his back. “What do you want, Peter?”

“A shower.”

“Of course,” said Chris with a resigned sigh. He leaned back into the spray to scrub his short hair. “Just let me get the soap out and it’s all yours.”

“Take your time,” said Peter.

Chris stared at him, pausing in his actions. “Seriously?”

“What?” shrugged Peter. “You’re built. It’s nice. Can’t I appreciate you for five seconds without an ulterior motive?”

“Have you met you?”

Peter grinned. “Good point.” He stepped closer to him. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind bathing me again. After all, my entire range of motion isn’t back quite yet. I still need help in all the more… difficult places.”

Chris looked at him incredulous yet deeply amused. “Your game sucks.”

“Who needs game when you look like me?”

Chris looked him up and down. Aside from the scars, which had healed even more in the few hours that had passed since they fucked and then slept, Peter was a very attractive figure. If he weren’t an egotistical maniac and animalistic killer, it would improve things in Chris’ book, but on the whole, Peter Hale was deliciously fuckable.

They came together in a bruising kiss, hands sliding everywhere. Chris pressed Peter to the tile wall at his side only to have Peter flip them so Chris was the one with cold tile against his back. “Not this time, hunter,” growled Peter.

“What are you thinking, wolf?” Bombardier blue eyes narrowed at him.

Peter swayed a bit side to side, like a snake about to strike. He licked his lips under the spray of the water just before licking up Chris’ neck hungrily. He paused at his ear and replied: “I’m thinking that you’d taste delicious.” He brought his head around and flashed his blue eyes at Chris, his teeth showing just a bit of fang. He leaned to his other ear: “But it will all depend on how much you trust me.”

“I have no trust for you, Peter,” said Chris. “I like to think that that’s why I’m still alive.”

Peter grinned and laughed. “Smart decision. But I think a little trust would be a risk you would want to take…,” his nose grazed the shell of his ear, “…just…,” his tongue flicked out, “…this…,” hot breath caressed him as the last word passed Peter’s lips: “…once.”

Chris closed his eyes as the heat spread to his groin and his cock hardened. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see,” said Peter. He turned them both so that the spray was hitting Chris’ back and he knelt down before him. He stroked Chris off once, twice, three times before putting his head underneath his cock and sucking on each of his balls. Chris cried out at the sensation. Peter licked up the underside of his cock before swallowing him. He felt Chris’ hand on his head as he found a rhythm to breathe around.

“Am I passing your trust exercise yet?” asked Chris.

Peter pulled off and said: “Oh we haven’t started that yet. This is just the warm-up.”

Chris gave him a look of curiosity and Peter answered by extending his fangs to their full length. “Shall we begin?”

As Peter took his cock into his mouth again, Chris stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Peter was right about him having trouble trusting: as it was, it was difficult to have Peter around without Chris having a wolfsbane bullet at the ready, but this? Talk about putting your life into someone’s hands!

It was good though. Chris had to admit that. Waves of pleasure were rolling off of him, heat moving over and through him, as he felt his climax build. Somewhere in the back of his mind, through the misty sex haze that was getting ever-thicker the more Peter worked his mouth over his cock, Chris could feel himself staying alarmingly aware. At the very center of his being was the hunter: ever vigilant, ever willing to protect those who could not protect themselves. And the hunter was intensely aware of the danger involved here. It was more than just the loss of his manhood, somehow Chris knew he could survive that. No. This was about the very real danger of bleeding out while passed out in pain. At best, he could hope to vomit through the agony of it, but how does one staunch the bleeding and kill the culprit before he disappears into the Washington State woodlands?

The more he thought about the implications of his trusting Peter Hale to such a delicate and intimate act, the more he could hear his father berating him, his sister laughing her ass off, his wife seething with rage. And this wasn’t exactly the place for his daughter to weigh in. All his life, he looked to others for opinion, guidance. This thing he was doing, this trust he was exercising, it was his decision and his alone and because of that the hunter inside of him stood vigilant.

He must have been communicating something odd, because Peter pulled off of him, fangs retracting. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” said Chris.

Peter stood up. “You reek of suspicion.”

“I told you I don’t trust you.”

Chris could have been mistaken, but for a fleeting moment, Peter almost looked crestfallen.

“Alright,” said Peter. “You want to call this quits, then you get out of my shower.”

Something inside Chris called out to his sense of pride, emboldened him. “Finish your job.”

Peter smirked. “Knew you couldn’t resist the danger of it.” His fangs extended again. “Could you, hunter?”

Chris kissed him hard on the mouth and smacked his ass. “Back to work.”

Peter sucked his balls again, watching him carefully, but there was no sign of trepidation from Chris. He settled into his work with abandon, licking, sucking, scenting him, reveling in the essence of Chris Argent, werewolf hunter. He nuzzled his face into the crook between hip and abdomen. He licked the inside of his thighs. He took him in his mouth again, a tender bit of meat between the jaws of the wildling wolf and moaned against the trust that was being bestowed upon him. Soon, Chris’ hand was in his hair again, guiding gently.

Chris relaxed into Peter’s ministrations. He let go a low moan when he felt his balls being massaged and fondled. He stretched his arms above his head and canted his hips in time with Peter’s rhythm, mimicking fucking his mouth as Peter moved his lips along his shaft. Every once in a while, a tooth would drag - never to harm, only to titillate - and Chris would suck in a breath at the sensation of coming so close…

Soon he was careening close to his orgasm, the tightness building in his scrotum as Peter focused on the tip of his cock, his hand working the shaft. The water had turned cold, but Chris barely acknowledged it: he was too focused on the fang-bared brat of a werewolf sucking his dick with exquisite skill. The sound of the shower barely drowned out the moans from them both and the wet, sucking sound of Peter’s mouth. Just as he was about to come, Peter pulled off, licking the underside of his cock and down his length. His cool blue eyes watched Chris’ helpless expression as he widened his mouth, baring his fangs and wrapping them delicately around Chris’ cock, the corners of his mouth the only barricade between the delicate skin and those scraping, ripping, tearing canines.

“Wolf…” Chris warned.

Peter chuckled past his mouthful.

“Let me come, you bastard,” said Chris through gritted teeth. His orgasm was fading off and yet, he was completely aroused by the display Peter was putting on for him.

Peter licked him to his tip and bit down ever-so-gently along his corona, just enough to let Chris know what it felt like. After Chris’ eyes clouded over, Peter sucked him in again, working the tip and shaft as before, tongue licking thick and broad over his slit, until Chris was at his tipping point and over it.

Chris cried out and practically doubled over with the force of his orgasm. Peter dutifully swallowed it all.

Peter stood and held Chris’ hip, stabilizing him while he recovered himself. Chris leaned against Peter’s shoulder and panted.

“Fuck,” said Chris. It seemed to be the only word he could speak.”Fuck fuck fuck…”

“Still don’t trust me?” asked Peter.

“Absolutely not.”

“So I guess this means you won’t let me drive when we get the car back and get out of this god forsaken town?”

“Can’t put anything past you.”

“And I also suppose that when we do get back to Beacon Hills that everything will be as it was before: you hunt and mistrust me, I hate your guts, et cetera, et cetera?”

“Pretty much,” said Chris. “Except when, you know… the shit really hits the fan and we need to band together again.”

“You expect that to happen often?”

Chris looked down at both their bodies, soaking wet, ruddy with exertion and orgasm. “If things wind up like this… I could live with it.”

Peter smirked. “I guess I could too, hunter.”


End file.
